


Chocolate Ladybugs

by Sonata_IX



Category: Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (1971)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 07:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4129533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonata_IX/pseuds/Sonata_IX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie decides to throw his own golden ticket contest to find a companion for Mr. Wonka. A Wilder Wonka fic.</p><p>First published on FF.net, May 5, 2012.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a break from another story I've been working on a little too intensely, so this is just a light story about Willy Wonka finding love. Feedback welcome, though I'm not overly concerned about continuity details; it's fanfiction, so just pretend that I changed little things deliberately.
> 
> UPDATE November 2017: Writing projects on hold due to family obligations. Not giving up on anything, just don't have the bandwidth for it in the near future.

_GOLDEN TICKETS STRIKE AGAIN! ECCENTRIC CANDYMAKER SEEKS AIDE_

_In a surprise announcement yesterday afternoon, Wonka Industries announced the launch of a new hiring campaign seeking a personal assistant for company founder and confectionery miracle worker Mr. Willy Wonka. But don't submit your resumes just yet, ladies; there's only one way to get an interview for what is sure to be a highly sought-after position: find one of the five golden tickets hidden inside a Wonka Bar._

_Readers will likely recall the debacle of Wonka Industries' last golden ticket contest a few years ago. Chocolate bars became a rare commodity almost overnight as citizens around the world began purchasing candy by the truckload. Trash bins and dumpsters overflowed with melting, discarded Wonka Bars as children unwrapped more bars than they could ever possibly eat and abandoned them as soon as they found no trace of coveted gold paper._

_Given the alarmingly wasteful results of the first contest, it seems especially irresponsible of Wonka Industries to repeat this maneuver. Mr. Arthur Slugworth, president of Slugworth Chocolates Incorporated, expressed disdain over Wonka's methods._

_"Mr. Wonka may know how to sell chocolate, but that says little as to whether or not the product is actually worth buying. I do wonder about the future operation of Wonka's factory, if he continues with this theory that the only necessary skill for his workers is the ability to walk into a store and spend money frivolously."_

_Mr. Charlie Bucket, one of the winners of the last golden ticket contest and the heir to Wonka Industries, had only this to say in response to Mr. Slugworth's comments: "It worked well enough with me, didn't it?"_

_Though only rarely seen in public, Mr. Wonka and Mr. Bucket have been known to exhibit the more intimate traits of a father and son rather than that of a purely work-based relationship. Though Mr. Wonka was unavailable for comment and Mr. Bucket refused to elaborate, one has to speculate; if Mr. Bucket is more to Mr. Wonka than an heir, is this future aide to be more than an assistant?_

_Perhaps instead of golden tickets packaged inside his chocolate bars, Mr. Wonka should have opted for diamond rings._

In his office, Willy Wonka set the newspaper with its startling headline down on his half-desk and leaned back in his half-chair.

"Oh, my dear boy," he murmured, running a hand through his hair, "what have you done?"

* * *

 

Charlie Bucket had a mop of unruly blonde hair that refused to be tamed and he seemed to be constantly outgrowing his clothing. He fidgeted as his mother clucked over his exposed wrists and ankles and tried in vain to comb his hair into something more suitable. He dutifully kissed his grandparents goodbye, all four of them, before escaping from the neat little cottage they shared into the bright sunlight of another wonderful day. He took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp morning air, and smiled.

Most thirteen-year-old boys would not be so pleased to be heading off for another day at school, but Charlie did not go to an ordinary school for ordinary children. He went to a special school created just for him by Mr. Willy Wonka, and anything produced by Mr. Wonka could not help but be delightful.

Charlie walked through the gate of the little white fence that ran around his family's cottage and shut it carefully behind him. There was a slight chill in the air, so he took a moment to button his coat and put on his hat.

Then he crossed the wide courtyard and entered the back door of Wonka Industries. He removed his hat and coat and hung them by the door.

It had been very nice of Mr. Wonka to build the little cottage in the factory's back courtyard. It made Charlie's walk to work so short that he barely had time to get cold. It also kept his family safe from prying eyes, after his overnight rise to fame as Mr. Wonka's heir. Even better, it kept Mr. Wonka safe from prying eyes when Mrs. Bucket invited him over for dinner, which she did frequently.

It hadn't taken the Buckets long to realize that, despite having the entire population of Loompaland living with him in his factory, Willy Wonka was a lonely man. Charlie and his family were such sensible, good-natured people that they quickly began to break through the skepticism and bitterness that the chocolatier had carried with him ever since being betrayed by his own workers so many years ago. Mrs. Bucket, though being near to Mr. Wonka's age herself, treated the man as she saw him: a good friend to her son. She showered him with so much affection that Mr. Wonka was known to call her 'Mother' from time to time, and she did not mind one bit.

It was late one evening in which Mr. Wonka had joined them dinner that The Idea first occurred to Charlie. His family had been gathered around the table after the meal preparing for a friendly game of cards. Grandpa Joe was already shuffling the deck while Grandma Georgina and Grandma Josephine's bickering about what they should play had the rest of them in stitches. Charlie had been helping his mother clear the dishes from the table when he'd happened to look at Mr. Wonka and noticed the peculiar expression on his face. He had his elbows propped up on the table casually, his pose speaking of lazy contentment, but something about his face was a little sad and too intense as he watched Charlie's family.

"Charlie," Mrs. Bucket called to him softly. "Don't stare." Charlie accepted the towel she offered him and began to quickly dry the dishes she was scrubbing. "The poor man has been alone without a family for a long time. It must be so hard for him."

Charlie thought about that as he dried another plate. "But he has us now. We're his family!"

Mrs. Bucket looked at Charlie as she wiped her hands on her apron. "So we are," she told him with a smile, enveloping him in a hug that was all warmth and the smell of soap. "So we are."

She let him go and he was alarmed to see her eyes looked a little damp. "I'm so proud of you, Charlie," she said, making him grin in awkward pleasure. She tousled his hair a little. "Now go join your grandpa and make sure he doesn't cheat!"

When Charlie took his seat at the table, Mr. Wonka's strange expression was gone.

Charlie didn't think about The Idea for several days after that, but then suddenly in the middle of studying some paperwork that Mr. Wonka was working on, it reared its head again with a vengeance.

A lot of Charlie's time in the factory was spent following Mr. Wonka around, learning what he did and what went into running Wonka Industries. Mr. Wonka also employed a man by the name of Mr. Wilkinson, who took care of any business matters that happened outside the factory. Mr. Wilkinson tutored Charlie in the more ordinary subjects such as math and literature, and had such a serious demeanor that Charlie could easily understand how he had been able to play the sinister Slugworth during the golden ticket contest. He much preferred school with Mr. Wonka to school with Mr. Wilkinson.

This particular day, school meant reviewing paperwork with Mr. Wonka, which was not nearly as exciting as most things Mr. Wonka did but still easily beat math and literature. Mr. Wonka's office now held two half-chairs and two half-desks, though the halves did not match and Charlie wondered if somewhere there was another room where all the leftover halves were kept.

Mr. Wonka had begun by explaining each piece of documentation to Charlie as they went, but the stack of papers to address was very large and as the hours wore on Charlie became overwhelmingly confused by the wealth of information. Mr. Wonka was clearly becoming frustrated and Charlie wasn't sure if it was with his lack of understanding or with the tedium of handling so much paperwork.

He jumped when Mr. Wonka slammed a piece of paper down onto his desk, adding it to the woefully small pile of completed work. "There!" Mr. Wonka declared, rising to his feet. "I think that's enough of that." He stretched his arms above his head before smiling. "Why don't we go to the Inventing Room, Charlie?"

Charlie wriggled in his seat. The Inventing Room was one of his favorite places in the whole factory. "But," he asked worriedly, "what about the papers?"

Mr. Wonka swept his top hat off his desk and placed it firmly on his head as he frowned at the remaining stack of unfinished business. "Well, it will just have to wait for another day," he said mildly, "A day when new ideas aren't dancing in my head, just waiting to be discovered!"

He held out his hand with a grin. "Shall we, Charlie?"

Charlie couldn't help but grin back. "Yes, let's!" he said, taking the outstretched hand, and they fairly skipped out of the room and down the hall.

Perhaps it was the Inventing Room's fault, being that its purpose was to take tidbits of possibility and ideas and explode them into reality, or perhaps it was that Charlie's idea,  _The_ Idea, had been at the forefront of his mind in Mr. Wonka's office, but at any rate Charlie did not find himself thinking about wonderful new kinds of chocolates and candies that could be created.

Charlie found himself thinking about Mr. Wonka. Mr. Wonka, who had no family. Mr. Wonka, who was lonely. Mr. Wonka, who hated paperwork. Mr. Wonka, who needed help.

It really was a shame, Charlie found himself thinking, that Mr. Wonka couldn't hire more people to help run the factory. Not hundreds of workers like in the past, he had the Oompa Loompas for that, but a few more people like Charlie and Mr. Wilkinson who could help with the more important matters. Like paperwork. But how would one even go about finding and hiring such a person?

The solution hit Charlie so suddenly that he froze in place and gasped. He'd often seen Mr. Wonka momentarily shocked into stillness when struck by such a marvelous idea, as if the slightest movement might scare it away or make it become too wonderful to bear. He had always wondered what it would feel like, and now he knew.

And he knew exactly how to find the perfect person for Mr. Wonka. After all, Charlie thought, it worked well enough for me.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a day like any other at the chocolate factory. Meaning, of course, that it started off with an explosion.

Willy left Charlie to supervise the cleanup and headed towards his office to check his notes. He'd learned long ago to keep his paper records safely away from the Inventing Room or any laboratories. He stripped off the heavy coat and gloves he'd been wearing, carefully folding the coat inside out so none of the ice crystals could escape.

As he hurried around a corner in the hallway, he collided with someone. Someone with too much height to be an Oompa Loompa and too much brown curly hair to be Mr. Wilkinson. He had no reason to expect to run into anyone else besides Charlie wandering the halls of his factory, and though he had left Charlie back in the Inventing Room, it still took him a moment to draw his mind back from his calculations and recognize that this person was definitely  _not_ Charlie.

With a startled cry, he leapt back until his back was pressing against the far wall of the hallway. The stranger had done the same with a tiny squeak of surprise. Willy noted that his intruder was a woman, nicely dressed and carrying only a small purse, looking not at all suspicious or sneaky like he might expect a spy or burglar to look. His sensible questions like  _who are you_  and  _how did you get in here_ were over-ridden when she began a hasty apology and reached for the things he had dropped.

"Don't touch that!" he barked, lunging forward before she could touch his discarded coat. The girl leapt backwards, flattening herself against the wall again and watching him with wide, terrified eyes. Willy imagined what he must look like, face flushed and slightly panicked, breathing hard, hair even more askew than normal, and made an effort to calm himself.

"Forgive me, dear lady," he began in a much more soothing tone, "but the ice is as sharp as shattered glass." The hand that had previously been raised to ward her off now gently beckoned her forward and he knelt, opening a fold of the coat to reveal the sparkling shards.

The girl peered down at the ice and her face went white. "Oh!" She slid down the wall until with a soft thump she was sitting on the floor. "I-I'm so sorry! I didn't mean...I mean, I should have-" She shook her head and started again. "I was looking for the washroom and I knew I was lost and I wasn't expecting to just run into anyone like that and I guess I'm a little nervous," she babbled. Her face flushed and now Willy asked the questions he should have asked first.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" He frowned at her as if she were a particularly frustrating puzzle.

"I...I'm Amalda McCaine. Charlie...I mean, Mr. Bucket showed me in." Willy almost smiled at her slip. It was hard to think of an affable child like Charlie as "Mr. Bucket."

"Oh my," he said, trying to decide if he was amused or vexed with himself. "Is it Interview Day already?"

In the two weeks since Charlie's golden ticket scheme had come to light, there had been plenty of time for Willy to become resigned to the idea of having an assistant. He even managed to look forward to not having to deal with mountains of tedious paperwork anymore. But he had stubbornly distanced himself from the reality of having another person who would regularly be inside his factory, his sanctuary, and what the process of hiring and training such a person would entail. Now here sat one of his five applicants, the others doubtless waiting elsewhere within the factory walls, and he found himself completely, woefully unprepared to deal with any of them.

The girl, Amalda, still sat across from him, huddled on the floor, and this at least Willy knew how to handle. He rose and stepped to a panel on the wall, folding it down to reveal an instrument that appeared to be the horn from a gramophone connected to shiny tubing that disappeared into the wall. "Charlie," he spoke into it, and his voice echoed throughout the factory. He heard Amalda gasp behind him. "Where have you placed our guests?"

After a brief pause, Charlie's voice echoed back to him. "In the Cloak Room, Mr. Wonka!"

"Of course," Willy murmured to himself, folding the device back into its niche. "Come along, Ms. McCaine." He carefully gathered up his coat and held his free hand out to Amalda. She hesitated only a moment before taking it and allowing him to draw her to her feet. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as he led her down the hallway.

"Please, call me Amalda," she said almost immediately. Willy nodded but did not give the expected reply. He wasn't sure if he wanted his assistant using his given name, nor did he know if Amalda would be the one to get the position.

After an awkward pause, she moved on to a new subject. "What  _was_ that?" she asked, gesturing towards the wall.

"That was the Wonkaphone," he replied mildly. "I'm only one person. I can't be everywhere in the factory at once."

He was sure that the word  _Wonkaphone_ didn't mean anything to her, but she only asked, "Is that why you're hiring an assistant?"

"Oh, no," he replied with a mischievous grin. "I want someone to do all the unpleasant things that I don't enjoy doing."

They reached the entrance to the Cloak Room before she could respond and Willy found that five chairs had been set up on the small platform where he'd displayed his ridiculously massive contract to a group of children a few years back. An array of hats and coats already hung from the hooks on the opposite wall and he was momentarily disappointed that he'd missed the fun of witnessing that. Again he thought nostalgically of the last time he'd entertained guests...or they'd entertained him.

Four of the five chairs were occupied and Willy bowed properly over Amalda's hand before releasing her to the fifth chair. The other women were sending glares with varying degrees of vitriol at her back as she hurried to take her seat. Women, Willy remembered, could be so much crueler than children. As those assessing eyes focused on him with unforgiving intensity, he found himself frozen just inside the door with no idea how to proceed.

At that moment Charlie skidded into the room, breathless and carrying Willy's hat, coat and cane. "Sorry, Mr. Wonka," he said, holding up the coat to help Willy into it. "I let them in while you were working. And I put copies of the interview questions on your desk. Everything's been prepared,  _just as you said_." Charlie caught Willy's eye and nodded, and Willy marveled at his young apprentice. He had clearly planned out everything.

Accepting the cane and placing his hat firmly on his head, Willy felt more confident. "Thank you, Charlie," he said mildly. "We'll discuss it later. And no more inventing today," he added.

Charlied sighed, "Yes, sir."

"So!" Willy declared, facing the women with more confidence. At least three of them jumped and slid back in their seats, obviously not expecting his changed demeanor. "Who wants to go first?" he asked, pacing the line of chairs.

"Me."

A hard voice, practically cutting over his words, spoke firmly before the other women had barely registered what he said. Willy raised an eyebrow as he turned to face the woman on the far left. She had risen to her feet, fists planted firmly on her hips and radiated such a presence that one almost overlooked her petite size. Dark hair cut in a severe bob and a sensible pantsuit and jacket completed her a no-nonsense attitude. With a slight bow, Willy gestured towards his office and she walked to the door confidently.

"Ladies," Willy said with nod of his head to the others.

As he stepped into his office, he had to slip around the woman. She had stopped just inside the door and now raised both eyebrows at him. "Is this a joke?" she demanded, gesturing to the half-chair that sat before his half-desk.

"Why, is it funny?" he asked with extreme innocence, pretending not to see her scowl. He took his half-seat and gestured to the other half-chair. "Please be seated," he said politely.

She frowned at the half-chair. "I'd rather stand," she said shortly.

"As you wish," he replied absently, scribbling on a piece of paper. "Doesn't...follow...directions," he murmured.

He heard her snort and the half-chair creaked as she sat down none too gently. "Cute. Don't play games with me, Mr. Wonka. If you want a skilled, hard-worker who will get the job done, let's talk business. Otherwise there are four other pretty faces out there who will follow you around and smile."

Now it was Willy's turn to raise his eyebrows.

"Jeannie Lauper," the woman introduced herself with a tight smile and a firm handshake. "I've worked for three of America's top industrial companies, worked my way to the top too."

"And why did you leave those companies?" he asked curiously.

Jeannie gave him a feral grin. "Boys don't like being bossed around by a girl."

Willy barked a nervous laugh. He felt that this woman was already trying to size him up, get his measure, put him in a box, and several other phrases he'd rather not apply to himself.

The interview questions from Charlie sat on this desk. There was actually only one question and Willy smiled at how well the boy knew his mentor. One simple question could tell him so much about each person.

"So," he said with deceptive casualness, resting his chin on his hand. "How did you find your golden ticket, Ms. Lauper?"


	3. Chapter 3

Charlie did not think the interviews were going well.

He had pulled up a chair outside of Mr. Wonka's office, trying hard to ignore the curious looks of the women. After each interview, Mr. Wonka handed him a single sheet of paper with his notes on it.

Jeannie Lauper, the first candidate, had an impressive resume...perhaps too impressive for the kind of menial work that was being offered. Mr. Wonka wrote that she was aggressive, bossy, and would not get along well with the Oompa Loompas, but she had found her ticket while buying candy for her nieces, so perhaps she had a gentler side once you got to know her. As Mr. Wonka showed her out of his office, Charlie saw that his mentor was wearing the false smile that he used so often around people he did not care for.

Selda Aranack, the second candidate, was even worse. Ms. Aranack was petite like Ms. Lauper and had her dark hair cut short like a man's, but it was feathered around her face to give her a delicate, youthful appearance. She smiled kindly at Charlie as she passed him, but at the end of the interview Mr. Wonka was frowning. Charlie quickly scanned the notes and saw the problem immediately. Ms. Aranack's two favorite things in the world were vegetables and exercise. She refused to answer any of Mr. Wonka's questions and instead launched into a passionate speech about how terribly unhealthy chocolate was and what Mr. Wonka could do to make it more nutritional. Charlie doubted she was really even interested in the job.

Things improved a bit with the third interview. Belinda Stolp was a burly, curly-haired Frenchwoman who boasted about her cooking skills and her prowess in the bakery. She tried different chocolates each week and decided that Mr. Wonka's were the finest. She wasn't at all surprised that one of her regular trips to the candy store had resulted in a golden ticket and believed she'd make a fine addition to the factory. She seemed to think she'd be concocting new recipes, not filing receipts. Mr. Wonka thought some of her ideas actually had merit, but the goal was to find a secretary, not someone to share his laboratory.

Charlie mulled the idea over silently. It was very unusual for Mr. Wonka to consider allowing anyone other than Charlie and the Oompa Loompas more than a brief glimpse of his Inventing Room. Charlie was not sure he liked the idea. It was one thing to hire someone to handle tedious paperwork; a person with access to the Inventing Room could easily ruin Wonka Industries. He resolved to keep a close eye on Ms. Stolp while she was inside the factory.

A muffled crash from behind the closed door of Mr. Wonka's office interrupted his thoughts.

* * *

Willy thought the whole interview concept was useless. What a terrible process of getting to know someone! He should never have let Charlie talk him into it. He contemplated whether avoiding the pile of unfinished papers on his desk was really worth all this fuss. Deciding glumly that even Vermicious Knids were more appealing than paperwork, he pasted a smile on his face and turned lady sitting across from him.

"So, Ms. Weston..."

Ms. Weston was no longer where he had left her. She was much, much closer.

She had drawn her chair up next to him, her knees almost brushing his as she crossed one leg elegantly over the other. The hem of her silky dress slid a few inches upward at her movement. She leaned towards him in a way that made her low-cut neckline seem to plunge even further and watched him from under lowered lashes.

Willy slid his chair back an inch and cleared his throat, his eyes darting for a safe place to focus on. Everything about her fluttered and teased him. He found himself staring at her hair. It was long and blonde and smooth like honey, falling in thick waves and curls around her shoulders.

Honey went well with chocolate.

"So, Ms. Weston," he began again, valiantly ignoring the way his voice had jumped in pitch.

"Mary Sue," she purred, sliding forward in her seat until their knees bumped again.

"Ah, y-yes," he murmured. "How did you-" She reached out and  _put her hand on his leg!_ "-find your ticket?" he finished in a rush.

"Oh," she said absently, her other hand reaching toward him. "My daddy got it for me." She leaned forward to touch his hair, tousling the curls as she ran her fingers through them. Willy sat frozen in astonishment bordering on panic. "I'm sorry," she said coyly. "I just couldn't resist."

Aware that she was now practically sitting in his lap, Willy fumbled for the next question. "What-" She was still leaning closer. "What do you-" Her gaze, brilliantly blue, met his from inches away. "What..."  _Was she actually going to..._

As her eyes fluttered shut and he felt her warm breath across his face, Willy finally snapped free of his stupor. He tried to shove the woman away but she had tangled herself up in him so much that his efforts only made her rock and jiggle against him in entirely inappropriate ways.

"Oh, Willy!" she giggled and grabbed his head, kissing him forcefully.

"Mmmph!" he protested, flailing wildly. The world spun into a haze of unpleasant warmth and expensive perfume and then Willy found himself lying flat on his back.

The door to his office flew open and Charlie gaped at him from the doorway. Ms. Weston was straddling his hips and managing to look both beguilingly embarrassed and supremely pleased with herself at the same time. The chair they had spilled out of was lying abandoned on its side.

"Charlie!" Willy gasped pleadingly and the boy immediately strode forward to pull the woman away off of him. She tittered as he helped her to her feet, making a rather obvious attempt to stumble and draping herself across his apprentice in the process. Charlie turned beet red and Willy  _saw_ red. Charlie was just a boy!

" _OUT!_ " he roared, causing both Charlie and Ms. Weston to jump. The silly girl detached herself with a pout and slunk out of his office. Willy followed Charlie to the door and glared balefully at the women who were watching him with astonished expressions. He could see them assessing his disheveled appearance and was suddenly disgusted with the whole operation. "All of you," he said firmly. "Out."

Nodding at Charlie he turned away, straightening his clothes and leaving the group to be escorted out by his very capable apprentice.

"Ah...thank you all for coming today," Charlie began tentatively. "If you'll just come this way, we'll have a brief tour of the factory before you leave."

His very capable  _overachieving_ apprentice, Willy grumbled to himself. The tour had also been Charlie's idea and though Willy was looking forward to getting a better impression of each of the candidates, now he was glad that he had let Charlie do all the planning. He wanted nothing more to do with such a ridiculous group of women.

* * *

Charlie led the way down the hall into the factory, trying to collect himself. The interviews were a very,  _very_ bad idea, he decided. If only he hadn't let those newspapers draw their own conclusions about exactly what kind of 'assistant' Mr. Wonka was interested in! Glancing over his shoulder, he was pleased to see that Ms. Weston was at the back of the group and very clearly not interested in pursuing him as she'd pursued - no,  _attacked_ \- Mr. Wonka.

He also noticed that there were only four people behind him.

Showing the ladies quickly into the Beverage Room, he instructed them to help themselves to the refreshments and hurried back the way he'd come. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the missing woman still inside the Cloak Room. About to call out to her, he hesitated in the doorway. This was the only woman who had not had a chance to be interviewed.

She was dressed more casually than the other women, in a simple blouse and vest with tennis shoes peeking traitorously from under her serviceable tan pants. She was nibbling at her bottom lip as she stepped slowly but determinedly towards the open door to Mr. Wonka's office.

"Mr. Wonka?" she asked uneasily from the doorway. Charlie edged into the room a bit so he could see what was happening. Inside his office, Mr. Wonka had slumped over his desk, his hands buried in his hair.

Without moving, he replied, "I thought I told you to get out." Charlie flinched at the mild tone which he knew barely masked an explosion.

"I...I would like my interview, sir," she said, politely but firmly. She sounded humble, something he would not have called any of the other applicants.

"I'm so sorry," came the completely unapologetic retort. "I don't care for the way  _interview_ is defined these days."

She stiffened. "Maybe you shouldn't print the instructions shiny golden paper if you don't want people to be blinded by it," she said curtly, spinning on her heel.

While Charlie was still trying to understand that cryptic reply, Mr. Wonka lifted his head from his hands and half-turned. "Ms. McCaine?" he called. "How did you find  _your_ 'shiny golden paper'?"

Ms. McCaine froze and her face flushed unexpectedly. After a moment of frantic silence, she squeaked something quickly and then stalked out of the office, past Charlie and into the hallway without pausing.

"What did she say?" Charlie asked, poking his head into the office curiously. Mr. Wonka had the most unusual expression on his face, a strange mix of puzzled bemusement and uncertain laughter.

He tilted his head to one side, looking a bit like a small child who had been given a nonsensical riddle to solve.

"She said...I think she said she took it from a gorilla."


	4. Chapter 4

Charlie led Ms. McCaine to the Beverage Room where the other women were waiting. Noting that they had already helped themselves to the punch, he filled a cup for Ms. McCaine and took it to her where she stood a little ways from the others.

"Thanks," she muttered, staring at the floor.

"No, thank  _you_ ," Charlie said with a smile. "That was exactly what Mr. Wonka needed." She frowned and looked up at him. He gave her a nod and then, seeing the others watching, moved quickly away.

Charlie hadn't had a lot of practice when it came to hosting guests. Taking a deep breath, he did his best impression of Mr. Wonka's flamboyance.

"Ladies! Now that you've all sampled the punch..." He gave a mischievous wiggle of his eyebrows and several of the women glanced at their empty cups. "...it's time to plan our tour. Now, I could just  _ask_ you what you'd like to see, but of course you don't really know everything about anything that's everywhere...er...here..." He frowned into space for a moment and decided it was best just to move on. "...So please take a pair of glasses and step onto the podium!"

He gestured to the plastic case that held several pairs of what looked like white, plastic sunglasses. When none of the women seemed eager to go first, he beckoned to Ms. McCaine and she stepped forward hesitantly. He presented her with a pair of glasses and helped her step up on the podium near the center of the room. The lights in the room dimmed automatically and a light began to glow on the far end of the wall.

"The punch has a chemical in it that communicates with the glasses," he explained. "It determines what would interested you most in the factory and helps you visualize it. Tell us what you see," he urged Ms. McCaine.

"I...I see a park, except the trees and bushes and everything are made out of candy. There's a river and a waterfall that look like they're made-"

"Made out of chocolate?" Charlie interrupted. The women gasped as the lenses in the glasses began to glow and a picture formed on the wall, as if projected straight from Ms. McCaine's eyes. "You would have read about that in the papers after all the kids were here. That's the Chocolate Room, an excellent choice." He had already planned to stop there first.

After allowing them to study the image for a moment, he helped Ms. McCaine down and Ms. Aranack, the health nut, took her place. "I see...plants! And windows. Lots of light."

"The Greenhouse," Charlie guessed, as the picture began to appear. It was only a short ferry-ride from the Chocolate Room, so it would be a good second stop.

"You have a greenhouse here?" she asked in surprise.

"Of course," Charlie said matter-of-factly. "Chocolate comes from plants." She looked thoughtful as she stepped down.

Next up was Ms. Stolp and it was no surprise to Charlie that she wanted to see the Inventing Room. Charlie decided to save it for last, in hopes that the chaos from earlier would be cleaned up and safely under control.

Ms. Weston stepped up next and Charlie tried not to cringe as he took her hand to help her onto the podium. "I see," she began, licking her lips daintily, "a large picture window overlooking the city. A bed..." The picture began to appear and it was indeed dominated by a large window. From one corner of the picture, the end of a four-poster bed was visible. The posts were twined dark and light wood, looking vaguely like spiraling chocolate monoliths, and the lumpy, pale blue bedspread managed to appear both warm and fuzzy _and_ light and fluffy.

"Is that...cotton candy?" Ms. Stolp asked, touching the image on the wall as if she could feel the blanket's unusual texture.

Charlie cleared his throat. "That's...that's, um..."

"Not part of the tour," said Mr. Wonka.

The group turned as one to see the chocolatier lounging in the doorway. He had his top hat tilted at a jaunty angle and seemed to have recovered some of his poise.

Ms. Weston snatched off her glasses and the image vanished. "Is that... _your_ room?" she sighed dreamily, stepping down from the podium. Before she'd managed a second step, Ms. Lauper and Ms. Stolp stepped between her and Mr. Wonka, blocking her path with folded arms and twin glares. Mr. Wonka looked pleasantly surprised.

Ms. Weston pouted and cast a quick glance Charlie's way, but Ms. McCaine, who was closest to him, stepped up to his shoulder in a show of support. He gave her a grateful look.

"My turn," Ms. Lauper said flatly, holding out her hand authoritatively for Ms. Weston's glasses. She handed them over with a sniff and stepped aside. Ms. Lauper stepped up and settled the glasses on her nose. "I see lots of people," she said after a moment. "Little people."

The picture that appeared on the wall showed neat rows of small buildings, with narrow streets between them and several orange-skinned folks in strange clothes going about their daily business. The other women gathered around the wall to see. "What did the papers say they were called? Oomples?"

"Oompa Loompas," Charlie corrected. "That's the Oompa Loompa village."

Ms. Lauper grunted. "Makes sense. Want to check out the workers," she said to herself.

Charlie glanced at Mr. Wonka. The Oompa Loompa village took up the north side of the factory and was hard to reach. No outsiders had ever seen it and Charlie wasn't sure how the Oompa Loompa's would feel about it. Mr. Wonka nodded to his apprentice. "We'll take the glass elevator," he told the boy, and Charlie grinned. The glass elevator was his favorite way to travel.

Several of the people in the picture had moved closer and actually seemed to be watching the group watching them. "Can they see us?" Ms. Aranack asked, edging back from the wall. Charlie shrugged.

One of the young Oompa Loompa women waved. Ms. Lauper half raised a hand uncertainly, then snatched the glasses off her nose instead. The glowing image faded and the overhead light brightened. "Very observant, Oompa Loompas," Mr. Wonka remarked.

"Will you be joining us on the tour, Mr. Wonka?" Ms. Stolp asked politely.

Mr. Wonka raised an eyebrow at Charlie, then let his eyes wander across the women, lingering with a curious gleam on Ms. McCaine. "Yes, I suppose I will," he murmured.

"That's great!" Charlie cheered before remembering he was supposed to be in charge. "Shall we begin, ladies?" he asked, gesturing to the door with an exaggerated bow.

Mr. Wonka stepped back, indicating the direction, and the women filed past. Ms. Stolp and Ms. Lauper flanked Ms. Weston on either side, preventing her from accosting Mr. Wonka again. Ms. Aranack and Ms. McCaine followed with Charlie and Mr. Wonka bringing up the rear. Charlie noticed the bemused smile on Mr. Wonka's face with relief.

* * *

"I seem to have acquired some protectors," Willy murmured to Charlie. The boy grinned at him before hurrying to the front to lead the way.

While Willy still wasn't sure if any of the women would work as employees, at least some of them were proving that they weren't completely hopeless. He frowned at Ms. Weston's back, wishing he'd had a way to exclude her from the tour.

Ms. McCaine, walking in front of him, momentarily blocked his view of the offending woman and Willy thought again about her aborted interview. What  _had_  she meant about the gorilla? He wished he could ask her, but she'd seemed so bothered by it...and he didn't want it to look like he was showing favoritism to any of the women. Not  _yet_ , anyway.

Charlie led the group to a different entrance than the one Willy had led the children through years ago. Though still barred with a musical lock, the large double-doors were set into a wall at the end of a perfectly boring hallway that stayed the same size from one end to another. The doors, dark wood with impressive black metal latticework, made an admirable attempt to make up for what the hallway lacked.

Charlie stopped before the doors and gestured the group to silence. With great solemnity, he pressed the four ancient-looking levers on the door in a specific sequence. Several of the women jumped as the sound of a grandiose pipe organ echoed through the hall.

"How in the world do you fit that much sound into a  _door_?" Ms. Lauper grumbled as the doors unbarred with a heavy clank.

"Ladies," Charlie said, looking over his shoulder with a twinkle in his eyes. "I give you...the Chocolate Room." He placed both hands on the heavy doors and slowly pushed them open.

The women crowded past Charlie onto the landing with gasps and murmurs of delight as they got their first look at the room they'd heard so much about after the first Golden Ticket contest. The newspapers had interviewed each of the guests after their visit to the factory and all had spoken extensively about the marvelous room where everything was edible.

Willy strolled in behind them, exchanging a knowing glance with Charlie as they pushed the doors shut together. "It seems like only yesterday," Willy began, with a fond smile for his apprentice.

"I know," Charlie said, looking sheepish but pleased. "I still remember that day whenever I come in here."

"What did you think, the first time you saw this room?" Willy asked curiously.

Charlie looked around at the idyllic setting and inhaled the unique scent of nature and candy. He listened to the astonished comments of the women and thought back to when he had stood where they were, when he had been the one staring in awe at the most beautiful place he had ever seen. He felt a thrill at the memory of that first moment of delicious discovery.

Charlie sighed happily. "I thought it was  _magic_."

* * *

It had to be magic.

Even after reading the stories in the paper, Amalda couldn't believe that this room could be real. It was  _huge_ , with quaint winding paths, trees that offered shade from the artificial sun, and bushes that sprouted every kind of candy imaginable. And every bit of it edible.

Ms. Stolp and Ms. Aranack, an unlikely pair, were already examining one of the nearest bushes. Ms. Stolp had a mouthful of candy berries and Ms. Aranack was fingering the leaves, remarking on their realistic texture and scent.

Amalda took a few steps forward, leaving the path behind. Without a thought for what the others would think of her, she kicked off her shoes and let her toes wriggle on the soft green blades of grass. She wondered if it was edible too, and if so how Mr. Wonka kept it from melting when someone like her walked on them with warm, bare feet.

Both the chocolatier and his apprentice had joined Ms. Stolp and Ms. Aranack, fielding the bevy of questions the women were tossing out. Checking that Ms. Lauper had Ms. Weston well in hand, Amalda picked up her shoes and strolled casually away from the group. She picked a candy apple from a tree as she passed, enjoying the tart, juicy flavor.

It didn't take her long to find what she was looking for. Settling on the bank of the chocolate river, Amalda stared at the chocolate waterfall with appreciation. How in the world did one even come up with the idea of mixing chocolate by waterfall? She giggled at the idea of a wild-hair Mr. Wonka tumbling over a waterfall in a barrel, yelling "Eureka!" even as he plummeted.

She was leaning forward to dip a finger in the chocolate river when a voice said softly, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Amalda jerked her hand back and looked around to see Mr. Wonka standing not far behind her.

"If you read the papers, you remember what happened to the last person who touched my chocolate."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Neil Gaiman's Stardust for a bit of inspiration in the middle of this chapter.

Amalda scrambled to her feet as Mr. Wonka approached, slipping a bit on the grassy slope. His face was a blank mask and she couldn't tell if he was teasing her or not.

"If you don't want people to touch it, you really shouldn't put it in a room where you tell people everything is edible," she said with a nervous laugh.

"Eatable," he corrected, "not drinkable." He stopped in front of her, hands clasped on top of his cane as he tilted his head to look at her.

"That's a silly little technicality to expect everyone to catch," she scoffed. "We can't all be as clever as the great Willy Wonka." Her tone had been light and bantering, but Mr. Wonka continued to simply stare at her. "What?" she asked uncertainly.

"You are a puzzle to me, Amalda McCaine," he said softly. When she opened her mouth to reply, he shook his head and continued. "Two of the women here are looking for jobs, though not the job I have available. One is not interested in a position at all and the last is seeking a position she could never hope to fill. But which are you?"

Amalda realized her mouth was still open and she shut it quickly. Mr. Wonka took another step closer, close enough that she found herself absently noticing the little details she would not have otherwise, such as the exact color of his blue eyes and how she had to look up just slightly to meet them.

"Which are you?" he murmured again, searching her face as if it would give him some clue as to her intentions.

Amalda bit her lip and watched his eyes stray towards the motion. In a voice equally quiet, she replied, "Thus far, you've made it very clear that there is only one job available here and it is  _not_ the one the newspapers have been speculating upon so wildly." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Though now you're starting to make me wonder."

Mr. Wonka raised an eyebrow. "And  _I've_ been wondering-"

The lights went out.

In the pastoral setting of the Chocolate Room, it was as if someone has switched off the sun.

The sudden darkness surprised Amalda, but it was the simultaneous shrieks of the other women, one sounding unusually close, that made her jump. While she had been aware on some level that the candy grass was slippery, she hadn't  _really_ noticed it until one of her feet skidded out from under her, and then she realized in a moment of panic how perilously close she was to the chocolate river.

Her breathless gasp was lost to her own ears, but somehow Mr. Wonka must have heard it, or else he had exceptional night vision. He caught her elbow in a strong grip and her flailing arm wrapped around his, clinging desperately. "There, there," he murmured as she caught her balance.

Then, absently, "Charlie must be showing them the night settings." She felt more than saw him turn his head upwards. "And he's forgotten that we harvested the stars last week."

"What?" she gasped, feeling completely off balance, literally and figuratively..

She felt Mr. Wonka moving again and then a spritely melody echoed through the darkness. Almost instantly, a light appeared across the room and began moving toward them. As the figure drew closer, Amalda realized it must be an Oompa Loompa. Reaching them, the Oompa Loompa flipped the light in his helmet around to illuminate his face. The shadows cast his face in an ominous leer and Amalda struggled to remind herself that it was only a trick of the lighting.

Mr. Wonka bent down to talk to the Oompa Loompa. "Charlie's showing off for our guests," he explained. "Have you seeded the sky since the last harvest?" The Oompa Loompa shook his head and grinned, looking extremely evil. "The helmet lights need some work," Mr. Wonka murmured to himself. "Bring some star candy for everyone," he instructed.

The Oompa Loompa reached into his pocket and pulled out a bulging bag. Mr. Wonka took it and shook a generous amount of what looked in the dim light like sand into his hand, then passed the bag back. The Oompa Loompa twisted his light back to the front and headed towards where Amalda guessed Charlie was waiting.

"What is that? What's star candy?" she asked curiously.

"Hold out your hand," he told her and Amalda lifted her free hand, the one not clutching Mr. Wonka's arm. He tilted some of the sand into her cupped palm and she was surprised to find that it had a rough, crystalline texture.

"Do I...eat it?" she asked uncertainly.

He chuckled. "Stars aren't for eating. At least, not  _yet._ Lift up your hand, like this." He wrapped one arm around Amalda's shoulders and lifted the other towards the darkened sky. Amalda mimicked his motion, holding her hand up next to his.

"Now, my dear lady," he murmured softly in her ear, causing her to flush in the darkness. "What do stars do?"

Before she could answer he took a deep breath and exhaled the final word in a gust of warm air.

" _Shine._ "

Amalda gasped in delight. As Mr. Wonka blew the sand slowly into the sky, it began to glow with its own ethereal light. It seemed to find its own breeze as it escaped the shelter of Mr. Wonka's hand and floated unerringly upwards. At last, between one blink and the next, Amalda no longer saw a trail of glowing dust but a sea of sparkling stars overhead.

"That's incredible," she said breathlessly.

All around the Chocolate Room, other tracks of starlight were beginning to join Mr. Wonka's. "Now your turn," he told Amalda, and when she hesitated he wrapped his sandy hand around her own, steadying it. "Take a breath," he instructed and she inhaled reflexively. "Now…just blow."

Amalda blew, and it became a hooting laugh as her star candy obediently lit up and began its trek to the sky. The strange noise that resulted from laughing and blowing at the same time made her laugh harder, and the last of her star candy left in small puffs and clusters.

"Well," Mr. Wonka said sounding bemused, "I suppose the Oompa Loompa's will be charting some new constellations."

Amalda looked up and realized that the clusters of star candy had managed to stay together even in the sky. She giggled quietly. They fell into a comfortable silence, standing side by side, staring at the new stars and listening to the murmur of the other women exclaiming over the feat. Their hands were still clasped together, half lifted towards the sky, and Mr. Wonka's hand had drifted from her shoulders to settle at her waist.

The lights came back on, more gradually this time, as if to simulate an actual sunrise, and Amalda and Mr. Wonka became aware of their intimate embrace at the same moment. Before Mr. Wonka could do more than look startled, Amalda was already turning away, studying the grass under the pretense of looking for her shoes. Her face burned with humiliation. She was acting no better than that horrid Mary Sue! She didn't want to see Mr. Wonka's face when he decided to place Amalda in that same category.

She took her time fiddling with her shoes and when she dared look up again, Mr. Wonka was staring out at the chocolate waterfall, hands clasped before him on his cane, seemingly unconcerned. She wasn't fooled.

"Mr. Wonka," she began, and saw his grip tighten on his cane. She chose her words carefully. "I have the greatest respect for you and Mr. Bucket, and would be honored to take any position in your factory that you have available." She couldn't resist adding, "Even if it's only as a...a star farmer!"

Mr. Wonka half turned to look at her, a smile teasing the edges of his lips. He tipped his hat at her and strode away, cane swinging jauntily.

Amalda breathed a sigh of relief and thought that maybe, just maybe, she hadn't ruined her chances.

Neither of them noticed Ms. Mary Sue Weston fuming silently behind the snozzberry bushes.


	6. Chapter 6

Mary Sue Weston was accustomed to having her way. The single child of a fantastically rich man whose wife had died in childbirth, Mary Sue had been spoiled silly since the day she was born. Whatever she desired, she had merely to ask, or point, or give any sort of other indication that she might be interested in possessing the object in question.

And right now that object was a man.

Why this man? Well, there was nothing in the world that Mary Sue enjoyed more than upstaging her friends, who were all just as spoiled and silly as she was and who had all married equally silly, doting men. The list of eligible bachelors who fit Mary Sue's requirements of being more rich, more famous and more handsome than any of her friends' beaus was extremely short. Mr. Wonka had not even been on the list until the newspapers turned the second Golden Ticket contest into a scandal.  _That_  was exactly what Mary Sue needed to trounce her friends' egos once and for all.

Procuring her ticket had been easy enough - most things are when you can throw an unlimited amount of money at them - but Mr. Wonka had proved not to be the sort of man who would so easily fall for a beautiful woman who could offer him anything his heart desired.

Mary Sue tapped her foot irritably. She had made a mistake by ruling out any of the other women as real competition. Mr. Wonka had certainly looked cozy enough with that mousy brunette earlier. What could he possibly see in  _her_? Regardless, it moved Ms. Amalda McCaine to the top of Mary Sue's list of people to Eliminate.

She was quite good at Eliminating people. Some of them were easily driven off when they realized they were competing with someone of such wealth, talent and beauty. Some of them could be bought off with her daddy's money. Some of them could be blackmailed, which Mary Sue did  _not_  enjoy, simply because it required the kind of political maneuvering that she would rather not wrap her brain around around when there were more important things, like flirting, that should be happening.

No, the method that was her personal favorite was sabotage. There was something so thrilling about the expression on a person's face when they realized their dreams had slipped from their grasp without them even realizing it and were now hopelessly beyond recovery. Even better when they were aware of who had caused their downfall and knew that they dared take no retaliatory action against her.

As soon as she saw the quaint little boat appear that would take them to their next stop on the tour, Mary Sue knew  _exactly_  how she could sabotage Ms. McCaine. It was a more daring action than she would usually take, but everyone had read the stories about what the children who had visited the factory had gone through. Her revenge would seem almost ordinary in comparison.

* * *

Charlie was still answering the women's questions and congratulating himself for how well the star candy demonstration had went when he saw that Mr. Wonka had summoned the boat. Politely cutting off Ms. Lauper's stubborn protests that such as thing was simply not possible, he led everyone over to where Mr. Wonka and Ms. McCaine were waiting. Charlie eyed the two of them uncertainly. It was unusual for Mr. Wonka to let himself be alone with any of the applicants.

Ms. Weston appeared from nowhere as they neared the riverbank, startling Ms. McCaine and causing Mr. Wonka to frown. But she seemed content to watch the approaching boat for the moment, merely standing to one side of Ms. McCaine, the side furthest from Mr. Wonka and still a safe distance from Charlie.

Ms. Stolp stepped up next to Charlie. "I read about that boat in the papers," she murmured, her voice just loud enough for everyone to hear. "Is it...quite safe?"

"Of course it is," Mr. Wonka replied with a smile, rapping the side of the boat with his cane. "You know how children exaggerate."

Ms. Stolp looked at Charlie. "Did you exaggerate?"

"No," he said, and climbed aboard. He could feel five sets of eyes on his back and caught a glimpse of a smirk that Mr. Wonka was not trying very hard to hide. As he settled himself at the back of the boat, he saw that all of the women were regarding it with various degrees of fear and uncertainty.

Mr. Wonka surveyed them for the moment, then held out his hand to the woman next to him. "Ms. McCaine, if you please?" He quirked an eyebrow and Charlie swore there was a bit of a challenge in his voice.

Ms. McCaine gulped, then seemed to rally. She met Mr. Wonka's gaze stubbornly and firmly placed her hand in his. He helped her into the boat and she immediately moved to the far side, sitting on a bench near the front and staring down at the chocolate river. Mr. Wonka winked at Charlie before turning back to offer his hand to the next lady.

It was Ms. Weston, favoring him with a simpering smile and eagerly reaching for his hand. Mr. Wonka's face went carefully blank, the pleasant expression frozen in place. To Charlie's surprise, Ms. Weston merely stepped daintily into the boat, with no shenanigans that involved tripping and falling into Mr. Wonka's arms or finding some other excuse to cling to him any longer than was necessary. To his intense relief, she chose the empty bench between Charlie and Ms. McCaine instead of trying to sit by him. One experience with Ms. Weston was more than enough for Charlie.

There was a bit of a fuss getting Ms. Lauper and Ms. Aranack into the boat. Neither felt it was a safe or reliable way to travel, especially  _inside a building_. Ms. Stolp finally shoved them both across the tiny gap between shore and ship, bustling aboard after them with a huff of frustration and some pointed comments to Mr. Wonka about the type of people who were appropriate for this sort of place.

Finally, Mr. Wonka settled himself on the bench next to Charlie and gave the Oompa Loompa's manning the paddle wheel a nod. They set off at a leisurely pace, and Charlie gave a quiet sigh of relief and heard it echoed by Mr. Wonka. "Just remember, this was _your_  idea," the man murmured. Charlie shot a wry grin at his mentor.

Nervous whispers sprang up among the women as the boat approached the infamous tunnel. As a group, they slid closer together on the narrow benches. Ms. Stolp wrapped one arm around one of the poles that ran down the side of the boat and Ms. Lauper, who was sitting behind her, quickly imitated the motion. Ms. Aranack was all but clinging to Ms. Lauper's arm, much to the other woman's consternation. Ms. McCaine and Ms. Weston both craned their necks over the edge of the boat to get a better look at the approaching darkness.

Charlie gripped the bottom of his seat with both hands, noting that Mr. Wonka merely sat calmly, arms resting on his cane. "No singing this time," he hissed.

And then it began.


	7. Chapter 7

Amalda read the news like everyone. She had heard of the wonders and horrors that the Golden Ticket winners and their families experienced inside the factory. Like most of the world, she had found the tales too fantastic to be believed. Gum that turned a person into a blueberry? Geese that laid golden eggs? A shrink ray? Compared to those, a boat that went through watery, underground tunnels seemed almost tame.

Though she had discounted the stories, part of her had wondered what if? If they had wanted to make up tales about the factory, why tell such outlandish ones that would never be believed? A tiny voice in her head that held tight to the dreams of her childhood asked, what if such a magical place existed?

So, she looked ahead of the small boat eagerly. Would it be the terrifying ride as reported? Or would it be a wild thrill, like the roller coasters at the fair? Would anything happen at all, or would the stories be revealed as nothing more than that?

And then it began.

The boat had scarcely been enveloped in the darkness of the tunnel before it plunged steeply downward. Shrieks came from the occupants of the boat, though Amalda merely gasped silently. Cool air rushing past her face was the only way she could gauge the boat's speed, and a moment later it turned, seeming to almost spin in place before careening down a slope again.

It was much less terrifying when you knew what to expect. Amalda grinned in the darkness. She didn't think Mr. Wonka would let anyone really get hurt. In fact, in between the high-pitched yells of the other women, she swore she could hear a low, musical hum coming from the back of the boat.

The boat rolled to the side again and Amalda gave an involuntary whoop of laughter. She stifled it quickly, worried the others would think she was mocking their fear, but she doubted any of them noticed over the sounds of their own panic.

Then something odd happened. Her grip on the rail had relaxed, but suddenly the boat jerked erratically. At least, she thought it was the boat. A moment later, she realized the boat wasn't moving but she was. It was as if a great hand had lifted her up and flung her towards the rail. Her hands scrambled for purchase on the slick surface but couldn't stop her headlong plunge over the side.

Now she did shriek, but it swiftly turned into a gurgle as the water enveloped her. The shock of its coldness momentarily took her breath away before she remembered to swim.

She could see nothing. It was all she could do to keep her head above the water as it pushed her relentlessly onward. She had no idea where the boat was, or if she even followed the same path as it or had been washed down a different tunnel. She felt like a ragdoll, tossed about by the dark, rapidly moving water.

Eventually she slammed hard into a wall and clung to it with all her might. There was a ledge just above her head that she managed to grip, though she wondered how long her fingers, nearly numb by now, would be able to hold on.

For long minutes she huddled against the wall, shivering and afraid, until at last it occurred to her that no one was coming to save her. Even if they had noticed her absence, how would they locate her down here in the darkness? No, as always it was up to Amalda McCaine to take care of herself.

With a tired groan, she flung her arm further up onto the ledge, then one leg. Inch by inch, she drew herself out of the water, until at last she was able to roll onto her back and lay panting and shivering on the cold stone. Her damp clothes clung to her, sending a chill deep into her bones that made her shudder.

"I can't stay here," she said aloud, though her voice was almost lost amid the rushing sound of the water.

She rolled onto her stomach and tried to stand, but her limbs felt rubbery and she worried she might tumble off the slick ledge and back into the water. She ended up crawling on her hands and knees, carefully feeling for the ground in front of her as she went. Her progress was achingly slow and she couldn't seem to make her body stop shaking. Cold, or shock? She didn't dare stop to analyze it.

At last she realized she could see the shape of her hands moving in front of her, and then the difference between the ledge and the water. It was more than her eyes simply adjusting to the pitch black around her. There was a light up ahead!

Amalda wanted to crawl faster, but she felt dizzy with relief. Her arms and legs felt impossibly weak, as if they had only carried her this far because they had no other choice and now that they were within reach of rescue, they refused to support her any farther. Almost at the edge of the light, she wobbled.

This is the end, she thought tiredly, slumping to the ground. Belatedly she tried to call for help, but all that emerged from her throat was a strange croaking noise that she doubted could be heard from more than a few feet away.

Just before she drifted into unconsciousness, she thought she saw the light flicker.

\---

Dark dreams plagued her. She was struggling but unable to move, heavy weights pressing her down and squeezing the breath from her lungs. She tried to fight them, but they dissolved at her touch, flowing around her fingers like water and refusing to be moved. She opened her mouth to scream, but the cold poured inside, freezing her heart. She was alone. No one would notice her absence. No one would save her. Her tears mingled with the darkness and were lost.

Then something odd happened. Her body felt lighter, just a little. A trickle of warmth slipped through the cold and started a gentle tingle inside her. Far away, she thought she heard someone singing, a lullaby.

Still unable to move, she yearned with all of her being to reach out to that warm voice.

She came awake abruptly, gasping, and the song stopped. She almost sobbed at the loss, but then hands were pressing her down, not with the terrifying pressure of the darkness but with gentle touches that soothed her trembling limbs and wrapped her in warm softness.

Her exhausted body succumbed almost immediately and she drifted into a deep sleep, this time without any nightmares to chase her.

\---

When she at last woke again, it was to the most luxurious warmth. She was cocooned in the softest blankets on the softest bed with the softest pillow she had ever imagined. She stretched slowly, feeling the tight ache that wound through her entire body and wondering what she could possibly have done to leave herself so sore.

She opened her eyes.

She was in amazing bed, though it took her some time to process the rest of what she was seeing. The room was dim, the only illumination coming from the trickle of light spilling through a door, slightly ajar, that was across from the bed. The room was decorated with many shadowy shapes that she could not identify, some as familiar as picture frames and others so bizarre that she couldn't possible imagine what they might be.

The blankets were twisted around her and she sprawled across the bed at an awkward angle, leaving her staring directly at one of the bedposts. She stared blankly at its curiously wavy silhouette, wondering what would make a bedpost have such an unusual outline. She struggled into a sitting position.

Her movement must have alerted someone in the room beyond, because the door was flung open wider, allowing more light in. Amalda couldn't make out the figure in the doorway, a dark shape with the light behind it, but she could see the bedpost much more clearly. Her jaw dropped open. It was a twisted spiral, dark and light entwined. She knew that bedpost.

The person in the door walked purposefully across the room and threw open the thick curtains that concealed the window, a window that Amalda had known would be there. She knew the bedpost and the window and the room. She had seen it earlier that day, in a vision cast by a magical machine.

The man at the window turned to regard her. Mr. Wonka.

She was in Mr. Wonka's bedroom.

In Mr. Wonka's bed, in fact.

She might have fainted if she wasn't already lying down.

"I'm dead," she said, the dry rasp of her voice startling her.

Mr. Wonka took a step toward her, looking concerned, but then stopped uncertainly, eyeing her. She imagined she looked just a little panicked. She certainly felt it. Mr. Wonka's eyes darted to the door as if wishing someone else could take his place in this extremely awkward situation. He licked his lips nervously. "You're not...that is...how do you feel, madam?"

Amalda started at him blankly, then flopped back onto the pillows, staring at a ceiling that looked like it was made of cotton candy clouds. "I'm dead," she repeated. "That woman is going to kill me when she finds out about this."

Mr. Wonka looked alarmed, perhaps remembering how at least one of his guests fantasized about invading his bed, then his eyebrows drew together as he frowned. "Ah," he said, a singular acknowledgement of an unpleasant realization. "So that's what happened."

She turned her head to look at him, not sure what his words meant, then flushed at the ridiculousness of her position. Struggling to free herself from the deliciously comfortable bed, she muttered aloud, "I can't be here, I need to get up. I should never have come here, what was I thinking?" She freed one arm and smacked it against her forehead in self-admonishment.

Mr. Wonka was at her side instantly, shushing her. "Oh no, no, my dear lady, please don't try to move. You've been through quite an ordeal." He looked away as if embarrassed to meet her gaze. "Not that there's anything wrong with a little adventure but this wasn't quite what I had in mind. Not that I always know what I have in mind, but it certainly wasn't this."

Amalda could only gape at him as he babbled, allowing herself to be guided back down into the nest of blankets as she tried to process the tumbling words.

Thankfully, another figure appeared in the doorway, stepping briskly into the light before Amalda had more than a moment to wonder at the newcomer. To her surprise, she saw that it was a woman with blonde hair neatly pinned back, her face lined not from age but from hard work. The kind smile she gave Amalda and her pleasant demeanor identified her before Mr. Wonka even said her name.

"Ah, Mrs. Bucket!" Mr. Wonka exclaimed in relief.

Charlie's mother nodded at him and sat gently on the bed beside Amalda, handing her a neat bundle. Amalda realized it was her clothes, freshly laundered and dried. "Thank you," Amalda said, equally relieved. She realized belatedly that someone had changed her from her wet things into clean women's nightclothes, and she was glad to know that Mr. Wonka hadn't been involved in that!

"Think nothing of it, dear", Mrs. Bucket reassured her. She placed a hand on Amalda's forehead, smoothing her hair and tutting in the very image of a worried mother. Amalda couldn't help but grin, and she noticed Mr. Wonka doing the same. "Out with you," Mrs. Bucket ordered Mr. Wonka. "Let the girl put herself together before you quiz her on the details."

Mr. Wonka stepped back immediately, gave the ladies a polite nod and hurried from the room. Mrs. Bucket waited until he had gone, then turned back to Amalda. "Now, dear, everything you'll need is in the washroom there. Just yell if you need anything and I'll come help. Can you get around alright? No dizziness?" At Amalda's shy nod, Mrs. Bucket stood and made her way to the door. "Take all the time you need," she added. "Willy's not nearly as impatient as he acts." She winked and Amalda couldn't help but giggle.

Left alone, she carefully climbed from the bed, relieved to find that other than a lingering ache in her muscles, she felt no ill effects from her misadventure. Hurrying to the indicated washroom, she dressed quickly and tidied her hair. In spite of Mrs. Bucket's words, she had no desire to linger in the luxurious rooms. The situation was already embarrassing enough and all she wanted to do was escape as soon as possible.

Crossing back to the bedroom door, she gave the room one last wistful glance, resolving to remember it fondly in spite of the circumstances surrounding her visit. If nothing else, at least she had one memory that very few other people in the world could say that they shared. Mr. Wonka's bedroom!

She paused before the door, taking a deep breath. The sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could be gone and pretend that today had never happened. Bracing herself, she opened the door and stepped through into the light.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get used to this pace, but...Merry Christmas, my dears.

The door opened to reveal a neat sitting room. It was well lit by the sunlight that poured into the room through several large windows, with filmy curtains that softened the glare without diminishing the brightness. Mr. Wonka was pacing in front of the fireplace, though no fire had been laid or was needed at this time of year. Mrs. Bucket was ensconced in an armchair, bent over some needlework with a basket of what looked like mending at her feet. They both looked up immediately when Amalda entered.

"Ms. McCaine-" Mr. Wonka began, starting towards her, but surprisingly Mrs. Bucket cut him off.

"Now, now," she shushed him, rising to her feet and taking Amalda's hands to draw her further into the room. "Let her get settled first. Please sit, Ms. McCaine."

"Amalda, please," Amalda corrected with a small smile, letting herself be led to the sofa.

"What a lovely name," Mrs. Bucket replied, pouring a cup of tea and passing it to Amalda. She continued to fuss as Amalda took the first sip and sighed in delight at the warm flavor. She glanced at Mr. Wonka, who had seated himself on the edge of the other armchair and was fidgeting with anxiety.

Mrs. Bucket noticed as well and half-whispered in a conspiratorial voice, "He's like a small child, isn't he? Charlie used to do the same thing when he was...well, significantly younger than Willy."

Mr. Wonka frowned and Amalda quickly took another sip of tea to conceal her smile.

"It's alright. What did you want to ask me, er, Mr. Wonka?" Amalda flushed. She had almost called him by his given name, after hearing Mrs. Bucket use it so casually. Luckily, no one one seemed to notice her stumble.

"Tell me what you remember," He demanded without preamble. "Please," he added more softly, after noticing the admonishing glance that Mrs. Bucket gave him.

Amalda set down her teacup and frowned in thought. "We were on the boat and it was dark. Everything had gone all topsy turvy and I might have been leaning over the side a little-"

"Oh dear," Mrs. Bucket interrupted. "Did it make you sick?"

"Oh, no!" Amalda hastened to reassure her. "I was enjoying it, really." Mrs. Bucket blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. Mr. Wonka's lips twitched as if he was suppressing a grin. "But I think I must have been leaning too far - it was hard to tell with the darkness and the motion - because suddenly I was going over the side." She shivered at the memory. "I tried to hold on but the rail was damp." She continued to explain how she had eventually run up against a wall and managed to pull herself to the relative safety of the ledge. Her explanation trailed off as her recollection grew more uncertain after that. "I don't know how long or how far I crawled. I thought I saw someone at the end, but I'm not sure…"

Mr. Wonka nodded. "One of the Oompa Loompas. You're very lucky you came out into that cave. They heard you and came to investigate." He looked sheepish. "It's why we brought you here instead of any of the other rooms, or even the Bucket residence. We're quite a distance from the main part of the factory."

"You did the right thing," Mrs. Bucket told him firmly. "Even by the time I managed to get here, the poor girl was still half frozen. You couldn't have carried her all the way to our home like that."

Amalda shook her head. "I still think Ms. Weston is going to kill me when she hears about this."

Mr. Wonka's face darkened, though his voice remained deceptively mild. "Oh no she won't."

Amalda raised an eyebrow at him and Mrs. Bucket looked back and forth between the two of them curiously. "And just who is this Ms. Weston?" she asked.

Mr. Wonka didn't immediately answer, so Amalda spoke up. "Another of the applicants. She's...how did you put it? 'Seeking a position she could never hope to fill'?"

"Oh," Mrs. Bucket said faintly. "I see she read the papers then."

"Everyone did, but most of us have enough sense not to believe everything we read," Amalda replied tartly.

"Ms. Weston is irrelevant," Mr. Wonka interjected. "She will not be working here and she should count her blessings that I don't report her to the police."

"The police?" Amalda exclaimed.

Mr. Wonka leaned forward, watching her intently. "My dear, the only way you could have gone over that railing is if you had help. And who was sitting right behind you?"

Amalda's mouth fell open in shock and she heard Mrs. Bucket's gasp. Then Amalda was on her feet, though she didn't remember standing up, fists clenched at her sides.

Mr. Wonka was watching her with that same mild expression, though his gaze remained intense. "Are you quite all right, Ms. McCaine?"

" _Fine_ ," she snapped. "I'm just so...just so...that _witch!_ What, does she think I'm competition? I just want some honest work and she wants...she wants... _ugh!_ " Amalda ground her teeth in frustration.

Mr. Wonka's expression grew puzzled. "Ugh? Would it be...is it really...ugh?" he mumbled, sounding as if he was talking to himself. Amalda realized that he thought she meant the idea of flirting with him was disgusting.

"That's not…it's just not appropriate," she said primly, trying to ignore her embarrassed blush. Giving herself a firm shake, she moved on. "Mr. Wonka, I was prepared to apologize and be sent on my way after all the trouble I've caused you." Mr. Wonka and Mrs. Bucket both tried to speak so she continued quickly, "But now, if you don't mind, I would really prefer to rejoin the tour as soon as possible."

Mr. Wonka eyed her curiously. "You're still interested in the position, even after my factory nearly killed you?"

"Your factory is brilliant," she replied solemnly. "An evil woman tried to kill me and I won't let her get away with it."

At her words of praise, Mr. Wonka sat up very straight and spots of color appeared on his cheeks. After the rest of her statement, he gave her a nod. "Brave girl."

Mrs. Bucket had two fingers pressed to her lips and was looking back and forth between them with a strange expression, as if they had changed into something new and fascinating that she had never seen before. Mr. Wonka gave her a questioning look but she merely shook her head with a mysterious smile, never moving her fingers, as if holding in some amusing secret she had just discovered.

Mr. Wonka rose to his feet. "Well, my dear lady, if you are sufficiently refreshed?" Amalda nodded. "Then I think it's time to return." He gave Mrs. Bucket a small bow and then offered Amalda his arm. She took it shyly, thanking Mrs. Bucket for the tea and the care.

Mrs. Bucket waved the thanks away, saying what a pleasure it had been to meet her. "I hope to see you again soon," she added, a strange glint in her eyes. Before Amalda could puzzle out what that meant, they were out the door and into a rather ordinary looking hallway, the marvelous rooms and the entire experience instantly becoming only a memory.

Amalda sighed regretfully.

Mr. Wonka slowed his pace, studying her carefully.

"I'm fine," she said hastily. "I was just thinking that if nothing else, I'll be able to relive these memories over and over again."

"Yes, relive being nearly drowned," he mused dryly.

"That wasn't your fault and that wasn't what I meant," she corrected him patiently. He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Anyone who's seen the inside of this factory can be instantly famous, but _I've_ seen something that I doubt anyone else has." She felt his arm tense where her hand rested on it. "Not that I intend to talk to anyone," she hastened to add, patting the arm. "Those memories are just for me." She tapped the side of her head with a wink. Her words worked and he again relaxed under her touch.

"So convinced you won't get the job?" he asked. He was using that mild tone again, the one she was beginning to realize meant he was hiding his true emotions. The realization that he had shown a stranger his private living space must have truly shaken him. It saddened Amalda to see how little faith he had in the world, though as she understood it, very few people had given him reason to trust them. She could certainly sympathize, but didn't know how to reassure him further, so she followed his lead and let the topic change.

"Why would I?" she asked, attempting to keep her voice as neutral as his. "The others, with one exception, are so much more qualified. Even if, as you said, they're _too_ qualified for an assistant position, why would you pick an unskilled worker over one who could grow into so much more?"

Mr. Wonka hmmed to himself. They had reached the end of the hallway and he pressed a button on the wall. Almost immediately, a set of doors opened with a ding and he dropped her arm to step through before her.

Amalda stared around with wide eyes at the oddly shaped room they had entered. "This isn't an ordinary elevator, is it? This is the one everyone talked about. The glass elevator that goes all directions. Isn't it?" Mr. Wonka pressed a button and the elevator zipped to one side. Amalda stumbled and then clung the the nearest rail. Mr. Wonka had already braced himself against the other side.

"Do you know why Charlie did this?" he asked, ignoring her questions. Amalda blinked at him, then was thrown to the other side of the elevator in spite of her grip on the rail. She clung to it, beginning to understand why Mr. Wonka had wedged himself so tightly into the corner. The elevator changed directions so quickly that merely holding a rail wasn't enough to keep yourself from being tossed about. She inched toward one of the corners while trying to maintain her grip.

Mr. Wonka continued. "He thinks I'm lonely." Amalda jerked her head to look at him, startled by the admission. "Well, and that I hate paperwork, which is true. But also, that I'm lonely." Amalda was stunned. So _was_ there some truth to what the papers had speculated about?

The elevator tilted and the rail slipped from her lax fingers. She stumbled across, hitting the wall next to Mr. Wonka with a wince. She rubbed her bruised shoulder as Mr. Wonka grabbed hold of her arm to steady her. "Is that also true then?" she asked. At his raised eyebrow, she added, "That you're lonely."

He stared at her silently. Side by side with their backs flat against the wall, heads tilted to look sideways at each other, and his hand with a vice grip on her arm, Amalda held her breath.

He spoke, but the elevator chose that moment to spin like a top, or like a demented matchmaker, since with the way she was being so tightly held, it tossed her into his arms instead of across the room. Her free hand slapped the glass beside his head, bracing herself so that she would not fall full against him.

"What was that?" she asked breathlessly. Her face was red again and she hoped he attributed it to exertion rather than her reaction to being practically sprawled across him. She looked up into his blue eyes, so close to hers now.

His hand flexed on her arm, the other landing around her waist. He tilted his head forward and the weight of his intention settled over her. She couldn't move, couldn't look away from his gaze.

Quietly, he replied, "I said yes."

Then he lowered his head the short distance to capture her lips.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, that was an evil place to leave it for so long!

The elevator dinged.

The doors slid open and Charlie blinked uncertainly.

Mr. Wonka and Ms. McCaine were facing each other from only a few inches apart, both looking startled.  Well, Mr. Wonka looked merely a little surprised, but Ms. McCaine was gaping at him like a fish out of water.  Her cheeks were flushed a brilliant pink.  It was almost as if they’d been-

Mr. Wonka looked at Charlie, raising an eyebrow as if he knew what Charlie was thinking, and Charlie felt his cheeks go as red as Ms. McCaine’s.  He cleared his throat awkwardly, and Ms. McCaine jumped and turned her wide-eyed stare on him.  She looked so shocked that Charlie was suddenly worried.

“Are...are you alright, Ms. McCaine?” he asked tentatively.

A gong sounded before she could answer, causing Ms. McCaine to jump again.  Charlie barely stopped himself from imitating the motion; her anxious reactions were putting him on edge.

Mr. Wonka merely frowned.  “The doorbell?  Charlie, are we expecting anyone?”

Charlie shook his head.  “No, sir.  Today was cleared for the interviews and tour.”

“Well,” Mr. Wonka said, straightening his coat and hat, “I’ll attend to that.  Please, continue.  Ms. McCaine.”  He nodded farewell to her with a smile that crinkled the edges of his eyes.  She watched him go without saying a word.

“Ms. McCaine?” Charlie asked again.

She blinked at him, then blushed even more.  “I’m sorry!  I’m fine!”  She stepped quickly out of the elevator and glanced around.  “Where are the others?”

“This way, please.  I left them in the Oompa Loompa village.”  Charlie took the lead, suddenly anxious.  The Oompa Loompas were great workers, but he wasn’t sure they understood that the guests shouldn’t be allowed to explore too far without him.

He glanced back at Ms. McCaine as they hurried down the hall.  She was keeping pace with him easily, but looked distracted, her gaze unfocused.  “Mr. Wonka didn’t tell me what happened. Are you sure you’re alright?”

She nodded, waving a hand dismissively.  “Mr. Wonka and your mother took good care of me.  I’m sorry to have worried you.  But Charlie,” she placed a hand on his arm, stopping him for a moment.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Bucket.  You should know that Ms. Weston is dangerous.”

In the midst of opening his mouth to assure her that he didn’t mind her using his given name, Charlie froze.  “Dangerous?” he asked.

“I think Mr. Wonka was going to deal with her, but since he’s been called away...please be careful until he can handle the matter.  I’ll help as well, and I’m sure the other girls will too.”  She patted his hand reassuringly and Charlie could only nod dumbly.  What on earth had happened?

In spite of her brave words, Charlie felt her grow more and more tense as they neared the village.  With her hand still gripping his arm, he gave himself an internal shake, reminding himself that he  _ was _ Mr. Wonka’s heir and it was his job to see that their guests were comfortable.  He found himself patting her hand in the same fashion that she had patted his moments before.  She grimaced and shot him a wry smile, which Charlie returned.

“Here we go then,” he murmured to her.  He noticed he wasn’t the only one to take a deep calming breath as they rounded the last bend.

\----------

An Oompa Loompa met Willy on his way to the front of the factory, which was worrisome.  If it had been a normal delivery, the Oompa Loompa would have been able to handle it without coming in search of the factory’s master.  The fact that he had not answered the door meant that the visitor was not of the usual sort that the Oompa Loompas had been trained to handle.

Hurrying onwards, Willy reached the door and threw it open.  

A short, rotund man stood on the doorstep with two police officers.  

Willy was momentarily taken aback to find them on the doorstep rather than at the gate, but then realized that the police presence explained that.  Even if Oompa Loompas wouldn’t open the door, they would know to let a police officer through the gate.

“Gentlemen,” Willy greeted with forced nonchalance.

The man stepped forward, clearly fuming.  “You,” he snarled.  “Where. Is. My. Wife?”

Willy stared at him, caught off guard by the unexpected question.  “I beg your pardon?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“MY WIFE!” the man roared.  One of the police officers shifted as if to restrain him and the other gave Willy an apologetic grimace, though he noticed that it prevented neither of them from surreptitiously trying to glance inside.

Willy settled himself more firmly in the doorway.  “And you are, sir?”

“Frank Aranack!  Now where is she?”

Willy glanced to the side and signaled the Oompa Loompa, who was standing out of sight.  The small man took off at a run.  “Ah, of course.  Please come in, sirs.” 

As he stepped aside, the three men crowded through the door and looked around with quick glances, Mr. Aranack plainly expecting his wife to appear at once and the officers trying to take in as much of the secretive factory as they could.  Willy couldn’t help but smirk a little.  

“This way, gentlemen.”  He gestured toward his office and led the way.  “I’m having Ms.- I apologize,  _ Mrs. _ Aranack brought up.  Please have a seat.”  He gestured to the waiting area outside his office door.

No one sat.

Willy sighed.

The officers took up positions on either side of the row of chairs, trying to look official, but Willy saw their eyes darting around as they continued to take in the surroundings.

Mr. Aranack crossed immediately to the neat row of coats and hats that hung on one wall.  “This is hers!” he declared, grabbing at a lavender wrap.  The hook stubbornly refused to relinquish it, even when the man pried at the brass fingers.  “What kind of a joke is this?” he spluttered.

“Ah, so sorry,” Willy spoke up.  “It will only return an item to the person who left it.”  Mr. Aranack stared at him.  “They’re very well trained against theft, or any sort of accidental mix-up.”

One of the police officers snickered, then quickly cleared his throat and fell silent at Mr. Aranack’s glare.  Releasing the wrap with a final tug, the man stalked toward Willy, shaking a finger angrily.  “Now see here, Mr. Wonka-”

Someone gasped.  “Frank?”

Mrs. Aranack stood in the doorway, Charlie peering anxiously over her shoulder.

Mr. Aranack made a beeline for his wife, finger still raised, his attention diverted with almost comical abruptness.  “Now see here, Selda-” he began, but she slapped his hand.

“Now see here, Frank,” she started.  “I’ll do what I please and you can’t stop me.  This is my chance to make a difference for all those poor people who are being poisoned by unhealthy foods.  You know how important this is to me and-”

“Now  _ see here _ , Selda,” her husband began again, louder this time.  “I don’t care what you think about chocolate but you are not taking a job here and that’s final.  I won’t stand for it.  You are my wife and-”

“ _ Now see _ -” she started again, when Willy interrupted.

“The position is no longer available.”

Silence fell as everyone, including Charlie, stared at him.  He knew his voice was cold, but he could not pretend to be cordial in the wake of this chaotic invasion of his factory, his home.

“Please take your argument elsewhere.  Charlie, see them out.”

Without another word, he turned his back on the couple, entered his office, and shut the door.

Tossing his hat on his half desk, he sank into his half chair with a frustrated sigh.  He had approached this idea with a bit of curiosity and amusement at first, but it was turning out to be rather exhaustingly terrible.  Even more dramatic than his first experience with inviting guests into his factory.

A tap sounded on the door and then Charlie poked his head inside.  “They’re gone,” the boy confirmed at Willy’s questioning glance.  “What was all that about?”

Willy only shook his head.  “I can only guess that the gentleman took exception to his wife applying for the position, especially considering the rumours surrounding it.”

Charlie looked at the floor, shuffling his feet.  “I’m sorry, I just...did you mean what you said?  About the position not being available?  Should I...should I cancel the rest of the tour?”

Willy looked away, staring at his hat for long moments.  He wanted eagerly to say yes, and yet…

“No,” he said at last, trying to keep the weariness from his voice.  Charlie perked up and Willy couldn’t help but give him a small smile.  “We should rejoin them.”

“You’re still coming? Even after…” Charlie gulped, eyeing his mentor nervously.  Willy realized he was frowning.

“Especially after,” he confirmed, quickly filling him in on the details of Ms. Weston’s attack.  His voice trailed off suddenly.  “Charlie,” he asked slowly.  “Who is supervising the ladies right now?”

Charlie stiffened in realization.  “Only the Oompa Loompas,” he confirmed, face ashen.  “They don’t know... _ I _ didn’t know…”  He turned abruptly, rushing from the room.  Willy wasted not a moment in following.

\----------

They had to get the full story from the Oompa Loompas.  Or rather, Mr. Wonka did, then relayed it to Charlie.  

When it came to English, the Oompa Loompas came in two varieties: those that spoke hardly any, and those that delighted in it so much that they couldn’t speak without turning everything into a rhyme or a poem or a lyric.  Left to their own devices, they might have launched a full-scale musical production to explain what had happened in Charlie and Mr. Wonka’s absence, but thankfully Mr. Wonka was able to quickly converse with them in their native tongue instead.

“What are they saying?” Ms. Stolp whispered to Charlie.  She and Amalda huddled around Charlie, eyeing Mr. Wonka and the Oompa Loompas nervously.  They both had chocolate on their faces and in their hair, but looked otherwise unscathed.  

A short distance away sat a lumpy brown blob that periodically sighed disconsolately.  The blog-person was so covered in chocolate that it was impossible to make out any distinguishing characteristics.

Behind the blob-person was a tall thin tree.  In its uppermost branches, Ms. Weston fumed silently.  She had finally stopped screaming.

In response to Ms. Stolp’s question, Charlie shook his head.  “I don’t speak the language.  Not yet, anyway.”  Not one of the Oompa Loompas had any chocolate on them, he noted, though several seemed a little put out.  He couldn’t see Mr. Wonka’s expression to tell if his mentor was upset, but the Oompa Loompas’ explanation certainly seemed to be complex, with a lot of enthusiastic gestures and overlapping voices.

At last the conversation ended and the Oompa Loompas moved away quickly.  Mr. Wonka spun on his heel and sought out Charlie, who was relieved to see the amused twinkle in the other man’s eyes.  Before he could relax, however, Mr. Wonka noticed the two women standing with Charlie.  He took in the others as well, one a chocolate lump, one up a tree, and his expression hardened.

“Let me see if I have this straight,” Mr. Wonka drawled, planting his cane in front of him as he took in the waiting group.  “After my workers  _ generously _ decided to give you a tour of their village, you, Ms. Lauper,” he nodded to the blob-person, “insisted on interrogating them about their work conditions and job satisfaction, and you, Ms. Stolp, decided to sample some of the freshly baked delicacies that were sitting out.  Am I correct so far?”

“Nothing wrong with wanting to know more about the place you’re going to run...er, work,” the blob-person grumbled.

Ms. Stolp nodded, but looked confused.  “Yes, but I don’t see how-”

“ _ What you failed to understand _ ,” Mr. Wonka interrupted, his voice rising to drown out their words, “is that the people you so rudely approached do not merely work in my factory.  They live here as well, and it is their home you are currently standing in, not their workplace.”  He glanced at the blob.  “They don’t speak much English, Ms. Lapuer.  They thought you were asking them if they were unhappy with their home life and wanted to leave their families.”

“Why, I-” the blob began, but Mr. Wonka had already turned away.

“And you, Ms. Stolp!  Just because food is sitting out does not mean that it’s been prepared for you especially!  Those chocolates were for a child’s birthday party!”  Ms. Stolp’s mouth dropped open and splotches of red appeared on her cheeks.  

Charlie actually felt a bit sorry for her.  “I’m...sure they didn’t mean any harm,” he stammered.

“Wrong!” Mr. Wonka barked, “For when the Oompa Loompas tried to separate Ms. Stolp from the tray of chocolates, what did she do?  Did she let them go and apologize?  _ No _ , she grabbed the tray and fought to keep them for herself.”

Charlie gave her an incredulous look, the image of the portly Ms. Stolp and a young Oompa Loompa child fighting over a tray of candies playing out in his mind.  Seeing his look, she said faintly, “They...they are stronger than they look.”

“And when they finally let go, the chocolates went flying,” Mr. Wonka continued.

“That’s how we got them on us,” Amalda murmured quietly.  He noticed that she too looked abashed.  “I was just trying to stop them from fighting.”

“And when the others, already upset by Ms. Lauper’s questions, saw food flying through the air, they decided that was exactly the right response to such rude visitors.”  Everyone turned to look at Ms. Lauper.  The lumpy chocolate mass shuddered, but she seemed unable to move from her position on the ground.

“They...really keep a lot of chocolate on hand...don’t they?” Amalda asked faintly.

“Oh yes,” Mr. Wonka said, his tone somehow indicating very clearly that he thought Ms. Lauper got exactly what she deserved.  

A small group of Oompa Loompas appeared with a pallet.  The hardening pile of chocolate was only making Ms. Lauper’s plight more difficult and the Oompa Loompas were maneuvered her onto the pallet with ease.

“What will they do with her?” Ms. Stolp asked.  

Mr. Wonka gave an eloquent shrug.  “Clean her up, send her on her way.”  He offered Ms. Stolp a handkerchief with a flourish, which she gratefully accepted and began dabbing the chocolate from her face.

Charlie frowned.  “Do you mean they’ll really help her get clean, or they’ll just...drop her in the lake?”  In the act of fishing out a second handkerchief, Mr. Wonka shot Charlie a mischievous grin that only he and Amalda could see.  Charlie suppressed a sigh.

As Amalda took the handkerchief from Mr. Wonka, she murmured her thanks and averted her eyes.  Mr. Wonka watched her for a long moment before turning away.

Charlie eyed Amalda, noting that she seemed suddenly very uncomfortable, before he realized where Mr. Wonka was looking.  He too turned to stare at the tree.

Ms. Weston was about fifteen feet up, arms and legs wrapped around a thick branch as she clung to it.  Her delicate clothes were stained and torn, her hair in disarray.  Until a few minutes ago, she had been screeching at them like an angry cat, demanding that she be rescued from her perilous perch and that she be granted protection from her attackers.

“So, er, how did she get up there?” he asked.  “Everything was fine when I left with Ms. Aranack.”

“Oh, that was my fault,” Amalda said casually.  Mr. Wonka and Charlie both turned to look at her in surprise.  “When the fight started, she threw a rock at me.  I guess she thought it would look enough like a piece of chocolate that no one would notice.  She’s got terrible aim though, so all it really did is get my attention.”  She shrugged a little.  “So I threw one back.”

“One?  _ One?! _ ” Ms. Weston shrieked.  “Look at my clothes! I must have at least a dozen marks on my body.  Oh Mr. Wonka, she’s a savage wild woman!”  Her voice rose in a wail.

Amalda bared her teeth in what might have been a grin.  “I might’ve gotten a little bit carried away,” she said, sounding not the least bit sorry.  “I chased her around the tree a few times, then she went up it lickety split.  You should have seen it!”

“Mr. Wonka, I demand that you get rid of that woman,” Ms. Weston hissed.  “I could have been killed!”

“Mm, people in glass houses,” Mr. Wonka murmured.  

Charlie tilted his head, confused.  “What?” he asked.

“A proverb,” he explained.  “People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”

“It means you shouldn’t accuse people of what you might be guilty of yourself,” Amalda said tartly.

Ms. Weston blanched, and then burst into tears.  “Oh Mr. Wonka,” she wailed, “how can you let her say such terrible things, when everyone here quite clearly saw  _ her _ throwing rocks at  _ me _ .”

“Actually,” Mr. Wonka said slowly, “no one here saw anything of the sort.”

Charlie glanced at his mentor and then nodded as well.  “That’s true, they were all too busy with the chocolate.”

Amalda seemed to feel guilty about the direction the conversation had taken.  “But I did confess to it.”

“So you both agree that you tried to kill her?” Mr. Wonka asked Amalda.

Ms. Stolp had clearly been flummoxed by the glass houses comment and was only now catching on to what the others were talking about.  “Hold on,” she said shakily.  “If that’s true, are you saying that previously Ms. Weston tried to kill Ms. McCaine?”

Silence fell.

“Ms. Weston,” Mr. Wonka called. “Did you try to kill Ms. McCaine?”

“No!” she shrieked.

“And did she try to kill you?”

A long pause and a sniffle.  “No.”

“Ms. McCaine, did you try to kill Ms. Weston?”

Amalda shook her head.  “No.”

“And did she try to kill you?”

Charlie held his breath as Amalda hesitated.  As Ms. McCaine had had her revenge, he could see that this was Mr. Wonka’s way of forcing them to drop the matter.  Ms. Weston had already given in, but would Amalda?

She stared at Mr. Wonka for long moments before she at last sighed, and said quietly, “No.”

“Good, it’s settled then.”  Mr. Wonka clapped his hands, turning away from Amalda immediately.  Charlie saw her shoulders slump.  “Now,” he continued, addressing Ms. Weston.  “Let’s get you down from there.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was promised cookies.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my fandom, I know it's been a few months now, but can we take a moment to mourn Gene Wilder? No one else quite understands like you do.

Amalda was feeling a bit better after the impromptu chocolate/rock fight. Though the method was childish, she couldn't help feeling her confidence rise after standing up to a bully like Ms. Weston.

As she and Ms. Stolp helped each other clean the chocolate from their faces and hair, Ms. Stolp made a comment about the loveliness of Amalda's skin, leading her to blush and offer a stammered complement on Ms. Stolp's thick curls. Soon she found herself exchanging beauty tips and other such feminine small talk. Amalda had never put much stock in "girl talk" in the past, but she could see that it was putting Ms. Stolp at ease after her embarrassing incident with the Oompa Loompas, so she made a valiant effort to participate. Of all the other applicants, she liked Ms. Stolp the best.

Over the course of the next hour, the Oompa Loompas produced a large, rickety ladder, Ms. Weston fell halfway down the ladder in an attempt to land in Mr. Wonka's arms (he stepped aside to talk to Mr. Bucket and pretended not to notice when she crashed the last few feet into the dirt), the Oompa Loompas graciously helped Ms. Weston tidy her clothes as much as possible, and Amalda's conversation with Ms. Stolp evolved into something more personal.

"My family, we have run the bakery our entire lives," Ms. Stolp said of herself and parents. "Now they are older and I do not want them to work anymore, but that would mean hiring at least one other person to help me run things. Between the cost of supporting my parents and paying an extra person," she shrugged. "I can't do both."

"How would working for Mr. Wonka help though? Wouldn't it take you away from them?" Amalda asked.

Ms. Stolp nodded, uncertainly. "True, but only temporarily. To say that I have worked with the great Willy Wonka would surely improve my shop's popularity to the point where money would be no issue. And besides," she muttered, almost under her breath, "Mr. Wonka has focused solely on candy. Who knows what fruitful partnership we might find if he could expand to other baked goods. With my expertise…" She sighed. "Well, we shall see, yes?"

Amalda nodded uncertainly.

Ms. Stolp shook her head suddenly and fixed her gaze on Amalda. "Enough of that. What about you, dear?"

"M-me?" She stuttered, surprised by the abrupt change of topic.

The other woman nodded encouragingly. "Yes, yes, what do you do? Do you have family?"

"Oh, um...no, not anymore."

Ms. Stolp's face immediately turned sympathetic and she patted Amalda on the arm. "Oh, you poor dear!"

"Oh no, it's fine," Amalda hastened to reassure her. "You see, my father was, er, a bit of an adventurer. He could never stick to a steady profession, so he was gone a lot. Sometimes he'd come home with money, sometimes he'd come home without anything, and sometimes the money would come without him." She smiled at the other woman's astonished stare. "It was enough for my mother to take care of me, and later I took care of her. When she passed a few years ago, I tried to track down my father, but none of his previous contacts had heard from him in some time." She sighed ruefully. "He always said one day he'd wander into something he shouldn't."

"And now you are all alone?" Ms. Stolp asked, her voice kind.

Amalda shrugged off the woman's sympathy with a chuckle. "Well, yes, but I take after my father. Any odd job will do, and some of them lead to the most interesting places."

"Is this where the gorilla comes in?"

Amalda looked up, her ears turning pink as she realized Mr. Wonka had apparently been paying careful attention to their conversation for some time.

"What does a gorilla have to do with anything?" Ms. Stolp asked in confusion.

"Well, er," she began, flustered, but at that moment a harried Mr. Bucket joined their group, glancing over his shoulder anxiously. Amalda followed his gaze and saw Ms. Weston stalking towards them, waving away the Oompa Loompas who were still helpfully offering various sticky things that might repair the rips in her clothes.

"Shall we continue the tour?" Mr. Bucket asked, edging further away. Amalda and Ms. Stolp quickly agreed, but it was Mr. Wonka who inserted himself smoothly between the group and Ms. Weston, offering her his arm. Ms. Weston was so shocked that she actually stopped to stare at him before recovering herself enough to bat her eyes coquettishly and thread her fingers around his elbow.

Mr. Wonka's face was expressionless. "I believe the final stop is the Inventing Room, is it not?"

He led Ms. Weston to the head of the group, the other two women following obediently and Mr. Bucket bringing up the rear.

No one mentioned that Ms. Lauper had not returned.

Seeing that Ms. Stolp had been distracted by the impending visit to the Inventing Room, Mr. Bucket sidled up to Amalda and said quietly, "Mr. Wonka told me what happened."

Amalda nodded. "I thought as much." Her eyes wandered to where Mr. Wonka strode stiffly with Ms. Weston all but draped across his side. "He didn't have to do that though," she murmured.

Mr. Bucket blinked. "Do what?"

She nodded to the disparate couple. "He's keeping her distracted so she won't come after me again. Or you, or anyone else."

"Oh, I see...yes, that's a terrible sacrifice for him to make," Mr. Bucket responded, eyeing the clinging woman. Amalda shot him a sharp look, but read nothing but genuine concern in his face.

"No one likes to have their space invaded unexpectedly," she said softly. Her momentary gratitude faded as she remembered someone invading _her_ space, very intimately, not so long ago. She narrowed her eyes at Mr. Wonka. What game was he playing, kissing her out of the blue like that? Was he going to kiss _all_ the applicants?

Mr. Bucket was giving her a very odd look and Amalda hastily smoothed her face and gave the young man a small smile, but he merely nodded to her and stepped forward to exchange a few words with Ms. Stolp. Amalda wondered what in the world her expression had looked like.

* * *

Willy was doing his best to ignore Ms. Weston's presence while simultaneously keeping her attention focused only on him. Luckily, Ms. Weston seemed content enough as long as he wasn't actively avoiding her.

It was rather fascinating, Willy thought, how his skin crawled at the touch of Ms. Weston's fingers on his arm, yet he had found it completely irresistible when the opportunity presented itself to kiss Ms. McCaine. _Amalda._ She deserved the less formal address after their encounter.

His own impulsiveness had surprised him, though not as much as it surprised Amalda. He couldn't help but smirk at the memory of her poleaxed expression, cheeks slightly flushed as she gaped at him. Was this... _attraction?_

He frowned, reviewing the events that had led up to that moment. He certainly hadn't been planning to kiss her. The day's events had him feeling very unbalanced, and a stranger in his private rooms, in his very bed, had almost been worse than the circumstances that put her there. Somehow Amalda had sensed his discomfort and her earnest attempts to reassure him had been endearing. Yet it had also been irrationally irritating to know that someone had this power over him, that one word from her in the wrong ear could spill details of his private life to the whole world. Part of him wanted to see her as off-balance as he was, and the impromptu kiss had certainly had that effect!

As if she wasn't unsettled enough, after nearly drowning. He scowled at himself. Attraction and insecurity where no reasons for a gentleman to force his attentions on a woman. Perhaps he owed her an apology.

But then, she had seemed perfectly fine at the Oompa Loompa village, chatting easily with Ms. Stolp. Her revenge on Ms. Weston was something he was privately pleased about and he almost regretted forcing the two women to a truce, but his factory was not a battleground. If only he could trust that this was the end of it.

A touch on his cheek drew him rapidly from his musings and he found one of the woman in question, now clinging much more tightly to his arm than was necessary, with one hand raised to caress his face. He realized he'd been glaring at nothing as they walked.

"So serious," she pouted, then squeaked as he caught her wrist tightly and leaned towards her. Her eyes widened as he brought his face close to hers.

"What do you want?" he murmured, quietly so that none of the others could hear. "Why are you doing this?"

Something slyly intelligent flashed through her eyes and was gone, but Willy recognized the cunning expression for what it was. Ms. Weston didn't care about the job, or the factory, or even about Willy. But the fame and fortune that would come from being Mrs. Willy Wonka? _That_ she sought with greedy single-mindedness. She hid it quickly behind a vapid smile, but he knew.

"Oh," she said breathlessly, keeping her voice as low as his, "but I'm just taking advantage of the situation _you_ created."

He blinked. "What?"

And then she threw herself at him. Again.

Willy was caught off guard by the sudden attack and his first involuntary reaction was to catch her. He staggered backwards, his back smacking into the wall of the corridor as her arms went around his neck. She closed the short distance between them, pressing her lips firmly against his. He heard gasps from the others, but was almost too stunned to move.

Then she shrieked and was ripped off of him. Willy gasped and nearly fell to the floor before regaining his equilibrium.

For a long moment, he couldn't move. He breathed a long, slow breath, feeling strangely emotionless. Carefully, he straightened his top hat and retrieved his cane from the floor, not taking his eyes off Ms. Weston.

Ms. Stolp and Amalda had her pinned against the far wall. She had been struggling like a wildcat, but froze when she was him watching. Charlie was by his side, hand outstretched but not quite touching him. "Mr. Wonka?" he asked worriedly.

Willy took one step forward and everyone, even Charlie, flinched. Willy paused, took another deep breath, and lowered the cane that he didn't remember raising. He released his white-knuckled grip on it. He hadn't been intending to hit her, though it probably looked that way. He planted it solidly in front of him, but no one looked reassured. The other women released Ms. Weston and step away from her cautiously.

"Ms. Weston," he said in a voice was flat and dull. "Get. Out."

"Oh, but Willy-" she simpered.

" _GET OUT!_ " he roared suddenly, startling everyone. Ms. Weston actually trembled, but Willy felt no sympathy. He could feel himself shaking as well.

"You don't really want to do that," she said, a quiet threat in her voice.

Willy inhaled, but before he could say anything else, Charlie laid a hand on his arm. Willy went still and Charlie quickly let go with a soothing gesture. "Mr. Wonka, let me handle this. Why don't you go on to the Inventing Room with the others?"

Willy felt both of his eyebrows raise incredulously. "Let you…? Charlie, I don't think-"

"Please, sir." There was a serious quality to Charlie's voice that Willy rarely heard. "I can do this." He didn't wait for an answer, just took Ms. Weston's arm and gently but firmly pulled her away, heading toward Willy's office. Ms. Weston shot an unreadable look at him over her shoulder and Willy shuddered.

"Shall...shall we continue?" he asked unsteadily, still not sure that leaving Charlie alone with Ms. Weston was the right decision.

Ms. Stolp and Amalda glanced at each other and nodded.

"Yes, we shall!" Ms. Stolp said firmly. "I am so looking forward to this. The stories that the children told were so astonishing."

"Oh, yes!" Amalda added with enthusiasm. "It all sounded so magical, it must be almost as impressive as the Chocolate Room. I can't wait to see if with my own eyes."

As they began to move down the hallway again, Mr. Wonka was drawn along in the wake of their conversation. He still felt dazed but no one seemed to expect him to actively participate, so he let the women's voices wash over him. He was grateful they both stayed a short distance away from him, pausing only to make sure that he kept pace behind them.

Each step further away from Ms. Weston and closer to the Inventing Room, one of his favorite rooms in the factory, loosened the knots of anxiety in his shoulders. At last he could walk with some semblance of his usual stride, a slight bounce in his step and his cane whistling through the air beside him.

The women noticed the change in his demeanor as well. Amalda smiled at him, but it was Ms. Stolp who was bursting with questions and had clearly been restraining herself with much difficulty.

"Is it true," she asked in an exaggerated whisper, "that you have gum that turns people into blueberries?"


End file.
